


Out of Grace or Simply Out of Sight.

by kotabear24



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Modification, F/F, Flower Child Harry, Genderbending, Genderswap, Girl Direction, Nipple Piercings, Oral Sex, Piercings, Punk Louis, Semi-Public Sex, girl!Harry, girl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotabear24/pseuds/kotabear24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel of "Fever's Fucking Running.";<br/>Harry's a sweet girl, possibly a flower child and definitely the opposite of Louis. <br/>Title from "Come Over Here" by Sarah Bettens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Grace or Simply Out of Sight.

Harry’s gorgeous. That much is obvious immediately. She’s also happy, and kind and incredibly intelligent. She’s _very_ feminine, and very artsy, and she’s easy going and easy to laugh with and easy to fall in love with. 

And she is – appearance-wise, at least – the exact opposite of Louis. 

Not that Louis minds, of course. 

Louis’ proud of the person she is. She’s in uni, a design student – interior; not fashion – and she pays her own bills. She calls her mum every Sunday evening and texts her throughout the week, and half of what’s left over from her checks get sent back across the pond to help pay the hospital bills for her step-dad, who died about two years ago. Louis’ funny, and she’s not _all that_ intelligent but she does well enough in school to get at least partial financial aid. She’s got a job as a piercer at a parlor her roommate’s brother owns, and she cleans apartments six days a week. She’s adjusted well to life in America, and over here, they don’t openly stare at her as much as they did back home. 

Her hair’s white at the roots and darkens into blue the lower it gets, and she’s no stranger to tattoos. She’s got a few piercings – nostril, an eyebrow, a few ear ones, and a naval ring – and she’s really fond of lace-up leggings and clunky combat boots and band tees. She doesn’t _only_ wear black, but – her youngest sisters, seven-year-old twins, got her a t-shirt from some fair they went to and it was a bright blue, and the shirt _definitely_ stood out in Louis’ closet whenever she opened the door. 

Harry, on the other hand, likes to wear long and flowy tunics and dresses, flats and sandals but she _loves_ her wedges (which are unfair, because they make her legs look even longer and make her about a foot taller than Louis). She wears flowers in her hair – real, actual flowers that she steals from school – she’s a first year botanical science student, so she’s still spending more time experimenting and cross-breeding with flowers than algae and lichens, like she really wants to be. Not that she complains; she just steals all the flowers and puts them in her hair. 

Taking a look at Harry, people expect her to be dating a very tall, very handsome, mild-mannered young man in an ironed button-up. Taking a look at Louis, people – well, people probably expect her to be a raging lesbian – but they also definitely expect her to be with someone who’s got some weird hair or at least a few piercings going on. 

Nobody is ever ready for the two of them together, but Harry came into Louis’ parlor one night with her friend, Zayn, and watched with interest as Louis cleaned off Zayn’s well-manicured eyebrow and dotted it with a purple marker. Just before Louis pressed the needle into Zayn’s skin, Harry asked, “Is it going to hurt?”

Before Louis could answer, Zayn hissed, “Harry, babe, wanna shut the hell up while she’s got a fucking _needle_ close to my eye?”

Harry had blushed furiously and stammered out apologies before falling shut, and Louis smiled. “Don’t worry, princess,” she’d said, though she was pretty sure she was just mumbling bullshit – Harry was fucking _gorgeous_. “She’s in good hands. Did my own piercings myself, did ya know?” Harry’s eyes widened and Louis felt her eyeing up Louis’ piercings – probably looking for signs of infection – before she pierced Zayn’s eyebrow without any more incident. 

Louis had given Zayn and Harry each her piercing card, and once they were gone, Niall, Louis’ roommate, had swooped in and given Louis the lowdown on Harry Styles. 

(“Flower science-y student; she’s actually fucking brilliant. Not a single piercing or tattoo on the girl’s body, far as anyone knows.” “I’m sure _someone_ knows, Ni.” “Well, anyway, she’s gay as fucking Ellen Degeneres mixed with NPH and she’s the sweetest little child-of-the-earth I’ve ever fucking met. Seriously, she’s a fucking charm, so if you get in her pants, don’t be a bitch.”)

The next day, Louis had gotten a text from an unknown number. When she asked who it was, she received _It’s Harry. im zayn’s friend, I came with her when you pierced her eyebrow?_

Louis felt she might have a heart attack, but reminded herself she was a cool girl with a foreigner-vibe that always helped her with people in general. _Oh, hey !!:) How’d u get my number ??_

Only a few minutes later, her phone buzzed again and she laughed out loud, startling Niall and distractin him from the telly. _…you gave me it…on that card?_

 _That was my business card. I give it out to everyone who comes into the parlour_ she’d answered back, receiving a simple _oh, sorry! Have a good day byeee_ in return. She only laughed again and texted back, assuring Harry that it was fine and she didn’t mind at all. 

After that, Harry seemed like a big ball of questions. How’d Louis get her hair to do that (“Do what?” “That color fade-y thing”)? How’d Louis manage to afford all those tattoos? How many tattoos did Louis have? Did she do them all herself? What do they all mean – do they all have a specific symbolic meaning? Are they too personal to share? How does Louis like it in America? How long has she been here? How’d Louis land the job at the parlor? Why do British people spell it _parlour_ but Americans spell it _parlor_? What’s it like to live with Niall? What’s it like to clean apartments? 

Louis answered them all patiently enough over the next few days, not asking many questions of her own unless Harry just said something plain _strange_ (which was actually pretty often) and by the time Zayn came back in, Harry tagged along and chatted to Louis more than Zayn did. 

Finally, Louis had screwed up the courage to ask her out, and by some sort of miracle, Harry’d said yes, and when Harry showed up in a pale blue sundress, Louis felt severely overdressed in her (nicest) band tee – a green Tonight Alive one – and her usual black jeans and black boots, though she’d taken time to attempt to curl her hair nicely (it halfway worked). Harry looked breathless when she saw Louis, though, and complimented her with wide eyes and then bit her lip, and then looked a little embarrassed. Louis rushed to compliment her back – stupid; why hadn’t she thought to say it first? – and Harry blushed. 

Louis took Harry to the Botanical Gardens an hour away. Harry was awed by the flowers’ beauty, though she was also awed by the (insert science-y phrases Louis would never remember correctly) potential they all held for testing. She completely nerded out, and didn’t realize until halfway through the date, when she realized she’d been talking for nearly an hour about science things Louis had no hope of understanding. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Louis; I’m being so boring,” she said, looking upset with her puppy dog eyes looking guiltily at Louis.

“No, you’re not,” Louis said, and she was actually being completely honest. “You kind of light up when you talk about all that science stuff. It’s nice – too many Americans go to school for stuff they aren’t even passionate about; it’s important to do what you love. Listening to you talk about something you’re obviously into is nice. Refreshing,” she said, and Harry smiled shyly at her before looking at her pink-painted toenails, showing through her rawhide-looking wedges. “As long as you don’t mind that I don’t understand _any_ of it,” Louis added, making Harry laugh obnoxiously loud. 

She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth and looked embarrassed, but Louis just grinned. Harry’s obnoxious laugh was truly awful, but Louis found it ridiculously endearing. She grabbed Harry’s hand, tugging it away from her mouth, and walked with her towards the exit, so they could head out.

“These are really pretty,” Louis said, running a fingertip gently over the vibrant blue flowers hanging down.

“Yeah, I really like blue,” Harry agreed, and when Louis looked over, she was simultaneously flattered and disgusted by how cheesy Harry was being. Harry was staring into Louis’ eyes as she said it, talking about Louis’ eyes rather than the gorgeous, hanging plants. 

Harry grinned at Louis, like she realized how horribly cheesy she’d just been, and Louis laughed. 

“So, tell me about _your_ major,” Harry said eventually, once they resumed walking. “I feel like I just used up half our date talking about science most people wouldn’t understand.” She wrinkled her nose in apology, but Louis just grinned at her and started her car. 

“So, I’m in for Design,” she began, and Harry interrupted her. 

“Like fashion?” She asked a little excitedly, and Louis snorted. 

“Harry, this is one of two shirts I own that isn’t predominantly black. I basically wear the same thing every day. The fashion world would eat me alive.”

Louis laughed, but Harry frowned over at her, and reached over to rub her fingertip over the thigh of Louis’ jeans, where the fabric was ripped. “I like the way you dress,” she defended Louis quietly, that hand moving up to tug gently on the hem of Louis’ shirt. “You always look good.”

Harry blushed as she said it, but Louis blushed wildly when she heard it. “Thanks,” she said softly. “I – you always do, too.” Harry had grinned, but her stomach suddenly growled wildly. 

Louis laughed, but Harry groaned, flinging her head back against the headrest of the passenger seat. “Well, _that_ was embarrassing,” she said, laughing lightly.

“Nah,” Louis said, grinning. “A girl’s got to eat, right? Want to stop on the way back?” Harry grinned.

They chose a homey-looking diner. The food was awful, but the service was great, and Harry’s eyes were bright as she talked and Louis found herself completely charmed.

\---

That was six months ago. Now, Louis’ got a snapback twisted on backwards, her red and orange hair pulled back from her face while she carefully slides a needle into Zayn’s left nipple. 

Zayn lets out a breath, a bit of pain giving her exhale a sound, but there’s a hiss in the corner of Louis’ piercing room (she has her own _room_ at the parlour now; Greg loves her).

“Harry, you have _literally_ seen vaginas pierced; would you _please_ calm down?” Zayn says through clenched teeth. “You’re making me nervous.”

Harry waits until Louis’ done cleaning up Zayn’s nipple and then clambers up behind her, and Louis winks at Zayn as she tells her, “She doesn’t trust me. Probably thinks I’m going to needle-pick your nipple off, or sommat.” Harry squawks indignantly while Zayn just rolls her eyes, but Louis grins as she leans back, sitting up straight to look at Zayn’s new piercings. “Liam’s gonna love them,” she says finally, adding a low whistle for effect. 

“Oh, I know,” Zayn answers, her voice gone low and seductive, but she ruins it by making a weird fish-face, and Louis laughs. 

“Oi! No sexy-times for them yet, you slutty American woman!” She semi-shouts, and Zayn listens dutifully while she starts going on about care-taking and cleanliness, warnings of signs of infection, and Harry distracts herself by playing in Louis’ hair, wrapping strands of orange and red around her fingers, all the way up to the very darkest bits of red are. 

Zayn pays and, without much small talk, leaves, and Harry lets go of Louis’ hair to move in front of her and sit on her lap. “Can I tell you something?” She says, tucking her face into Louis’ neck.

Louis loves how Harry still gets bashful, her sweet innocence charming even though Louis knows as _truth_ what Harry sounds like when she’s got a bullet vibrator pressed against her clit and Louis’ teeth scraping the underside of her jaw. “Always, princess” she answers, pressing the promise into Harry’s temple. 

“That vaginal piercing really _was_ sexy,” Harry finally confesses in an almost-whisper against Louis’ collarbones. 

Louis laughs fondly through her nose, smoothing a hand down over Harry’s untamable curls and swiveling from side to side in her chair. At the sound of Louis’ laughter, Harry pulls back just enough to sit straight, her face now level with Louis’. 

She smiles, proud to have done something Louis liked, and her eyes go wide. She looks so _precious_ , is the thing, and Louis’ always liked precious things. 

She wants to wreck her.

She must have a mischievous glint in her eye, because Harry’s skin starts to pink up. “What are you looking at me like that for?” She whispers, though she already knows. She’s already squirming in Louis’ lap, her legs clenching together. 

Louis doesn’t respond; she just rises and lifts Harry with her, making her squeal a bit and scramble for a hold. Louis’ not going far – she deposits Harry on the piercing “table” – and she moves to lock the door so nobody else will come in. Harry watches as Louis comes back, her eyes wide and her hand already slipping dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. Louis watches as Harry’s fingers press down, over her skirt and panties, to give herself some friction.

“So, you wanted to talk about a vaginal piercing?” Louis asks, a little too loudly. 

Harry’s eyes get big, and she bites her lip. Louis pauses, only long enough to fleetingly want to bang her head on a wall. Harry still doesn’t understand the idea behind role-playing; can never figure out when Louis’ being serious and when she’s trying to be sexy-“serious”. She also never wants to speak up.   
“Don’t worry, princess; I’m just kidding,” she whispers, and Harry’s cheeks turn red, though she lets out a relieved breath. “Although, I _am_ going to have to examine the area,” she continues, a little loudly. “For optimum piercing quality, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoes, giggling, and lets Louis spread her legs apart by the knees. 

Louis sits down on her chair, pulling it in closer, and pushes Harry’s feet back so they stay on the table. Harry’s sitting up, so Louis stretches to kiss her, one hand wrapping around an ankle of Harry’s and the other scratching lightly at her scalp, reveling in the purring sound Harry makes. When Harry starts making sounds against Louis’ mouth, she ends the kiss and settles back into her chair comfortable, and lifts Harry’s skirt. 

There’s already a bit of a wet mark on her panties – always Victoria’s Secret knock-offs, because Harry rarely buys name-brand _anything_ but loves feeling pretty and sexy – and Louis leans in to lick at it, feeling how hot she already is. Above her, Harry tips her head back at the light teasing, wanting more but refusing to ask. Louis knows she won’t; she never does. 

Louis runs her finger up the center of Harry’s panties, pressing just enough to make Harry feel it and light enough to make her crazy. Still, Harry says nothing, her hand curling into a fist the only sign that she _wants_. 

“Good girl,” Louis praises, and Harry’s wet patch on her panties grows. “Come here,” Louis says, and slides Harry’s panties to the side, sliding her tongue across Harry’s lips to clean her up the tiniest bit. 

Harry’s hips twitch a bit, but Louis pulls back, her hands sliding up to grasp the waistband of Harry’s underwear. She swiftly slides them up the slope of her thighs, around her knees and down Harry’s ankles, taking care to get them off Harry’s sexy wedges (maybe Louis has an obsession with them; maybe not), and she drops the panties behind Harry on the table, glad she sanitizes it frequently. 

Louis kisses Harry’s thighs and they tremble, reacting to Louis’ touch. A quiet whimper claws its way up from Harry’s throat when Louis licks just around her, sucks lightly on her lips but doesn’t go any further. “I’ll take care of you, princess,” Louis promises quietly, and Harry falls silent instantaneously. 

Louis rubs her hands up Harry’s pussy and runs them sideways, up Harry’s thighs just to stop at her knees, pushing them apart a little more so Harry’s long, graceful legs are straining under Louis’ fingers. When Louis’ satisfied, she pushes her face up against Harry’s wet skin, and her tongue suddenly flickers out, causing Harry to take a sudden inhalation while her hips twitch like a reflex before she stills herself. The only sound that leaves her as Louis starts lapping her up like a desperate, thirsty woman in a desert is a slightly punched-sounding _oh_ , and Louis sighs happily. 

She hums quietly, laving at Harry’s clit and sending rushes of sensation through Harry’s spine every time she does it, her breaths stuttering with each point of contact. 

A tiny whine lodges itself in Harry’s throat, and Louis looks up to see Harry swallowing repeatedly to try and keep it down. Taking mercy on her, Louis moves her mouth down, the tip of her tongue just barely teasing the outside of her opening, and Harry’s back arches off the table, her teeth clamping down on her lip so hard she might bite it completely off. 

“Shh, shh,”Louis soothes, her tongue flickering out against Harry’s clit as she speaks. “I’ve got you, princess.” She relents, then, and her tongue slides as deep as possible into Harry, curling up before retreating, and she does it over again and again. When Harry’s legs start shaking, Louis lets go of Harry’s legs, opting to find her hands and twist their fingers together. Harry holds on tightly, and Louis moves back to her clit, sucking on it hard enough to make Harry lose control. 

“ _Oh_!” She moans out, and Louis tries not to grin, because she doesn’t want to stop making Harry feel good. “Lou – Louis – I –” Harry presses her lips together, and Louis keeps sucking on Harry’s clit and watches as Harry’s head tips back, chin pointing to the ceiling. Her jaw drops and her breathing is loud, her hips twitching just enough for Louis to pick up on. 

Finally, she gets too sensitive and her legs start shutting – her way of telling Louis to get off her clit – so Louis moves down and licks up all evidence of Harry’s arousal and orgasm. _This_ Harry is a bit more noisy – the post-orgasm, hazy Harry – and she moans weakly and her hands brush through Louis’ hair. 

When Louis finishes, her face is wet and so are her underwear, but she ignores herself in favor of crawling up the table to kiss Harry. Harry moans into the kiss, her hands clenching in the flame-looking part of Louis’ hair (as usual; she likes the contrast of the red and orange against her pale skin, Louis thinks). Harry’s legs are still shaking, but she pushes a thigh in between Louis’, giving her the option to grind against her leg. Louis rewards her thoughtfulness in form of trailing wet kisses down her neck, praising her in between each kiss.

“You’re so gorgeous,” she says, but ignores Harry’s offering. She kisses all the way back up to Harry’s mouth and then kisses the tip of Harry’s nose. She pulls away, looking into Harry’s eyes, wanting to know just how aware Harry is. Harry’s fine, though, so Louis grins and asks, “Wanna come back to mine?” 

Harry nods eagerly, wiggling in anticipation – she knows exactly what she’s going to get once they’re back in Louis’ flat. Louis always rewards her when she gets on board with anything remotely public, as it’s a huge turn-on of Louis’ but something Harry only sometimes is okay with. 

Louis helps Harry straighten her clothes and cleans up a bit of her makeup under her eyes, where it’s been smeared, and Louis’ never been more glad that she always schedules Zayn for her last appointment of the day, whenever Zayn wants to come in. 

“Greg, I’m going home,” she calls, pulling Harry out and locking her room up. 

“Is Harry anatomically qualified for a vch?” Greg calls back.

Harry looks at Louis, questioning, but Louis’ too busy laughing her ass off. Finally, she tugs Harry to the door and calls, “I might have gotten distracted. We’ll look again at home.” With the sound of Greg’s laughter, she tugs a still-confused Harry out the door of the parlour, holding her hand on the way to the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand, now I'm gonna go into hiding, because I have a paper due for Gender and Philosophy that I need to start...and complete. 
> 
> Also, here's what Louis' hair looked like when they met:  
> http://www.pinterest.com/pin/103934703872710736/  
> And here's what it looked like at the end:  
> http://images.cryhavok.org/v/Fire+Hair.jpg.html


End file.
